First, an Olympic update. Four weeks ago, I attempted to describe to you the hoops that Israel and Portugal are making Micha’el and Tslil jump through in order to prove that they are not married, so that they can now get married in a civil ceremony in Portugal, which will, among other things, make various bureaucratic procedures in Portugal simpler for them and for Tao. It strikes me that, if skateboarding (2020) and breakdancing (2024) can qualify as Olympic sports, then there is no reason why bureaucracy shouldn’t qualify as well.

Or perhaps it should be a founding sport of the Anti-Olympics. The motto of the Olympics is Citius, Altius, Fortius – Faster, Higher, Stronger – so perhaps the motto of the Anti-Olympics should be Tardius, Inferioris, Inbecillioribus – Slower, Lower, Weaker; in that case, this clash between the bureaucracies of Israel and Portugal is starting to look like a gold-medal contest.

Last week, we received a slip from the Post Office informing us that a registered letter for Micha’el was waiting to be collected. When Bernice collected it, the envelope had already been torn open, albeit quite neatly. (I find myself wondering how much postage one has to pay to ensure that a registered letter arrives intact.)

When she looked through the contents, Bernice saw that the envelope was sent by the Israel Foreign Ministry, returning all of the documents that Micha’el and Tslil had submitted to prove their identity. These documents included Micha’el’s birth certificate, translated into Portuguese and notarised. Attached to this birth certificate by a paper-clip was a handwritten, unsigned, undated slip of paper from (presumably) a Foreign Ministry clerk, which read:

Greetings!
It is not possible for us to authenticate the attached document since the authorized signatory no longer appears in the system.
You have to get a new certificate issued by the Interior Ministry, and then send it again. 

If we understand this correctly, authorized signatories are removed from the system even though documents they signed will continue to circulate for decades. It beggars belief, and it makes me believe that the similarity between the Latin for weaker – inbecillioribus – and the English imbecilic cannot be a coincidence.

We only hope that Bernice manages to get a new certificate issued, and that the new certificate will reference the old one, so that the Portuguese notarisation document will still be valid, and Micha’el and Tslil will not need to pay another exorbitant notarisation fee.

I have presented this story in a light-hearted fashion, but it is, in truth, infuriating.

Speaking of slower, lower and weaker, my voice is not really improving, and I am, this week, making a concerted effort to speak as little as possible. It’s not easy, let me tell you. I have now managed to train myself not to answer my phone as a reflex reaction, but to hand it to Bernice. When I first got my voice back a little, I answered the phone and embarked on the following conversation.

• Hello.
• Hello.
• Is this David?
• Yes.
• I’m calling from [a charity].
• I’m sorry. I can’t speak.
• I can call back later.
• No! I can’t speak!
• Well, when would it be convenient for me to call back?
• I can’t speak! I’VE LOST MY VOICE.
• Oh, I see. I’m sorry. I wish you better. Goodbye.

I have started attending services in synagogue again, which also has its challenges. Much of the service, even the weekday service, includes verses that are sung and responses that are spoken aloud. When I went back, I could only speak in a whisper, and I was determined not to take part in those congregational responses; however, it is almost impossible not to get sucked in, particularly if the service is being led by someone who has a tuneful voice.

To my surprise, I suddenly realized, ten minutes into the service, that I could hear myself reciting the prayers. My voice had suddenly strengthened considerably. This, of course, meant that I had to remain continuously conscious of how I was reading, in order to stop myself speaking aloud.

This led to a couple of very interesting discoveries. First, there are many prayers that I have been reciting aloud for years, without needing to glance at the prayer book. Suddenly, I found I was unable to recite these prayers silently. I only know them off by heart if I recite them aloud. Over the last couple of weeks, I have developed a technique where I consciously ‘hear’ the prayers inside my head, even though I am making no sound. Using this technique, I remember the prayers perfectly.

This technique also helps me to weigh each word separately, rather than having the words melt into each other as they tend to do when I am not ‘hearing’ them. Needless to say, weighing each word is something I strive to do anyway when I pray (with, it must be said, varying degrees of success).

This led me to wonder about memorizing other texts. If you ask me my ID number, I can tell you it without hesitation…in Hebrew, but not in English. However, if you ask me to write down my ID number, I have discovered that I cannot do that unless I ‘speak’ the Hebrew name of each number silently in my head. Interestingly, I still know my army number (although I haven’t used it in 20 years) in English, but that is presumably because I found a convoluted arithmetical hook to hang that number on, and I still certainly do my arithmetic in English. (In my experience, counting is the very last language act that people retain in their native tongue, however well they speak the language of their adopted country.)

None of this really surprises me, because I have long known that I am a verbal, and not a visual, apprehender. If I were ever present at a crime scene, I hope that I would refuse to appear as an eye-witness, because my testimony would, I am sure, be unreliable. One of the reasons I dread Bernice disappearing is that I would have to report it to the police and they would inevitably ask me a string of questions I would be embarrassingly unable to answer. ‘What was she wearing when she disappeared?’ ‘How tall is she?’ ‘What is the colour of her eyes?’ ‘Her hair?’

Let’s make this perfectly clear: This is not the main reason I dread Bernice disappearing – of course it isn’t; don’t be silly. Nevertheless, it is a reason. (When Bernice reads this, she will suddenly realise why I insist on taking a photo of her every time she is about to leave the house.)

I leave you this week the most tenuous double segue since I started this blog. Are you ready? Speaking of leaving the house, a couple of celebrities left their shared home – Earth – rather spectacularly recently. Inspired by the examples of Richard Branson and Jeff Besos, Tao commissioned a spaceship and is pictured here about to make his maiden voyage.